In Augurium
by raedbard
Summary: AndyToby: The flights of birds would tell you stories of hope, success, loss and rebirth, if you knew how to read them. Andy Wyatt is trying to learn.


**Title:** In Augurium  
**Author:** Raedbard  
**Fandom:**_The West Wing_  
**Pairing:** Toby/Andy  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** c. 2700  
**Disclaimer:** I don't pretend to be Aaron Sorkin or John Wells. I just like to borrow their characters and make them do morally reprehensible things to each other.  
**Timeline/Spoilers** From pre-show to S5.2 'The Dogs of War'. No spoilers past the end of S4.  
**Summary:** The flights of birds would tell you stories of hope, success, loss and rebirth, if you knew how to read them.

**In Augurium**

_Inaugurate_ (vb.): 1. to begin or introduce (a system, policy or **period**)  
Latin _inaugurare_, _inaugurat_-, to consecrate by augury

_Success is counted sweetest  
By those who ne'er succeed.  
To comprehend a nectar  
Requires sorest need._

_Not one of all the purple Host  
Who took the flag today  
Can tell the definition  
So clear of victory_

_As he defeated - dying -  
On whose forbidden ear  
The distant strains of triumph  
Burst agonised and clear._  
Emily Dickinson, 67

The bird alights on the windowsill just as Andy turns, still half-asleep, into the new morning light. Having forgotten, not surprisingly, to close the shutters last night, she can see it standing on the narrow ledge, looking strange with grace, bright white under the dull grey sky which has just past dawn. Probably some kind of gull, she figures, fresh and fragrant from the Potomac. It cocks its head at Andy and opens its mouth. Now wide awake, she sees its tongue flash deep pink and catches the strained cry it makes, coming to her filtered through the glass. She flinches from that cry, pulling her shoulders back down under the sheets, nearer to the warmth of Toby's body beside her. But she is still watching it as it flies off, sinister; to the left.

Andy turns her back on the window, ignoring the grey light that follows her into the room; she tries to see blue instead. The grey in Toby's hair is the only sight which resists her and he remains resolutely pale in front of her, asleep, his face empty and still. Andy flicks her eyes to the bedside clock, which is glowing red over Toby's shoulder. It reads 4.53; she has seven minutes left. She spends them looking at Toby, picking out the blue tint in his lower lip and the white in his beard, just underneath. She has started to think about kissing him just as the alarm goes off. She closes her eyes as he opens his and she feels him move towards her, kissing her mouth softly because he thinks she is still asleep. Andy keeps her eyes closed as Toby gets out of bed and doesn't flinch when he slaps the alarm clock and silences the noise. She smiles as she listens to him, knowing he is now too awake to notice her. And today she is slightly surprised to notice that the rhythms of his routine don't disturb her, in fact this morning, it is almost as good as sleep.

"_I do solemnly swear ..._ "

She stands with him for the first time. One of his hands holds hers fast; he keeps time with the other. Holding that other hand in front of his stomach, his index finger follows Bartlet's upward inflections, straightens out for the beats left and he makes a tight fist for the climax.

" _... that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States ..._"

She pulls him closer, stroking his arm with her other hand. Andy follows his gaze up to the podium. She thinks that, somehow, Jed Bartlet seems taller today, broader and tanned: perfect politician, she thinks - great hair, too.

" _... and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend .._. "

With the high January sun in his eyes Bartlet manages, Andy thinks, to look both solemn and amused with his hand bound to his Bible and his head slightly inclined towards Mrs. Bartlet whose smile is quivering, as though she is almost too happy. She rests her chin on Toby's shoulder and watches all this, smiling and trying not to break his concentration with the laugh she feels coming.

" _... the Constitution of the United States._"

His eyes never leave the President as he comes down from the podium, and she knows he's forgotten anyone else is here at all. She squeezes his hand, rubbing her thumb hard over his skin, and gets no response. She turns to him, puts two gloved fingers to his chin and pulls him down to her.

"You did good."

"He did," Toby says, his voice so low that she can hardly hear him over the noise of cheers and chants.

"You did. You won, Toby."

He looks at her, then at the floor. Then he looks back over his shoulder at his President, who is waving and shaking hands with a bright-white grin.

"Yeah."

"This isn't one of those other times, Toby. So, you're not going to have to say 'please' quite so much for the next four years," Andy says, smiling.

"Eight years," he says, still quiet, his eyes slipping up to meet hers.

"Exactly."

CJ's right, she thinks: he is hot when he's like this. She can still taste the champagne in his mouth as little bubbles on his tongue, and she always liked him in a tuxedo. She supposes he'll have more occasion to wear one now, and silently prepares the appropriate remarks for the future in her head, smiling at him from the couch. He never challenges the smile or provides with one of his own, just stares at her, dancing a light step from foot to foot and fiddling with his bow tie. She shakes her head at him; he lets the start of a smile turn the corner of his mouth upward, and bows his stare.

He is unusually insistent that night, she notices; suddenly a winner and grasping with both hands the ego-boost of sweet success. It's almost like it was when they were first married. He is less a man of darkness tonight and, as if to prove it, he kisses and strokes all the parts of her body which are the palest - her inner thighs and wrists and the low ridge of her ribcage, after he asked her silently into the bed in his last act as his usual self that night.

Toby's confidence makes a hunger in Andy. She lets him know with the pushes and pulls of her body; hoping he'll catch on, hoping he'll stay this way, for tonight at least. He does, and throws off his reverence - slipping quick over her and pinning her to the bed and his thumbs pushing into the centre of her wrists, making pink marks in her light skin. He makes Andy arch up to him instead of pulling him down and she hears the moan he gives at the touch of her hips to his belly with satisfaction, kissing his forehead as it lowers to her skin. Her legs spread with his, and as he pulls them up around him she realises how wet she is and squirms, happy, against him.

Toby's hands start it, and that much is usual. But he goes straight for the prize tonight: spreading her with two fingers, then pressing hard with his thumb to make her gasp and push at him with her foot, curved round his hip. He takes her ankle in one hand and strokes it then curls his fingers round her instep, but his other hand stays between her legs - first pressed flat, then two fingers straight inside her, then one making a circle inside, and a sharp jolt of her hips.

She is so wet when his hands are done that she wonders if there'll be enough friction once he finally gets round to using more than his fingers, but she needn't have worried. He is smiling when he bends to her and he can't stop kissing her, opening up her mouth now too. She raises her legs around him and presses tight, catching his rhythm quick, keeping her eyes open because tonight she is in love with the different colours of their skin and his dark hair against her red. They make something she is happy to see. When he stiffens in her arms Andy puts her palms to his face and holds him away, then pulls him back and whispers his name into his open mouth.

"Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"I lost the baby."

There's no change in his face but she is glad, as far as she can be, to see his eyes dull, then start to glisten. "Oh, god ... Andy."

"I thought you'd want to know, probably."

She looks up at him and finds that can't read his face anymore, that looking at him is different; as if the years between them have gone and now he's just the man that everyone else knows and she, before today, couldn't quite remember, sitting in her house.

"I'm sorry," he says, still watching her, and holds out his hand.

She shakes her head at him, unable to stop her tears coming, hoping her hair hides them. She swipes at her wet eyes, scratching herself with over-long nails and she hating the red flush that comes to her and the way she huddles into his arms, crying into his neck. Toby takes the hair out of her eyes and wipes the tears with his thumbs. Her mouth is full of salt-water when he kisses her and Andy tries to hold the taste away; tries to find him instead, but she is stuck with the salt.

He smiles a slight, tired smile at her when he moves away. He lets go of her hands, nods, and turns away, going upstairs to their bed.

Andy follows him a few minutes after he has disappeared and once upstairs she takes an unusual amount of time to brush her teeth, trying to ignore the nervous giggle that is threatening to vomit up from her stomach, and to avoid her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She hates the sight of her eyes after she has been crying and really doesn't feel like tonight is the optimum time to start overcoming the phobia. She throws three handfuls of cold water over her face and hopes that it's enough.

He has his back turned to her when she opens the bedroom door. She nods to herself, then starts to undress, throwing, just for tonight, her clothes over his where they lie on the back of the dark pink lounge chair which was a wedding present from his brother. She leaves nothing and slips in beside him naked, and cold.

He's not asleep; she doesn't need him to turn round to know that, but when he does she learns something else from the redness around his eyes, and from the tiny smile and lift of his eyebrows he gives her.

"I'm ... really sorry, Andy."

She smiles, too tired to pretend, and reaches to stroke his face. She runs her fingers across his cheek and his ear, resting at his neck. Andy moves her body closer in to his, accepting the kiss he presses into her shoulder.

"I know."

Her body still needs him and she knows that is a separation which will turn bleak and cold before it mends, so she thinks she'd let him do anything tonight, just for tonight. But he remains, still and silent, not asking anything, with his face hidden in her hair.

"You can ... you know," she says, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"It's okay," he says, raising his head.

"Toby ... "

"You're still, you know - from ... from the miscarriage."

"I'm fine."

He smiles, resigned, and shakes his head. "We shouldn't, then."

"Okay," she says, soft and lost across his skin.

He nods, then kisses her with his arm around her waist. Andy remembers again how warm it is in bed with him, how his body turns with hers, how his belly pushes against her ribs when they lie face to face. She remembers him so that she will not forget, later, when the bed is cold and sold to someone she doesn't yet know. He holds her, and rubs his palm into the small of her back to soothe the ache she didn't tell him was there. Andy pushes in against Toby and falls asleep, in the middle of trying to hold too many pictures in her mind at once, hoping that some of them might make it into dreams which, in the end, she doesn't have.

It's a couple of months before Andy knows for sure, before she has found words she thinks are appropriate, words that won't hurt too much. That evening after dinner, he occupies the shadow of the room as he always does, sitting across from her with his chin resting on his hand, his index finger pushing into his mouth. Andy sighs, and finishes her coffee. She looks at him for a minute and tries to learn the picture he makes in their home, his feet up on the coffee table, his tie discarded on the arm of the couch and his collar open. She can see the pale skin of his neck through the shadow. She closes her eyes, clears her throat:

"Toby?"

"Hmmm?"

"Could you stop reading for a moment?"

"I have to finish this, Andy."

"It won't take long, Toby."

"What?" he asks, his voice softer than his expression.

"Toby," she starts, then breaks off, brushing the hair from her face. One deep breath, then, "This just - this isn't working, Toby."

He stares at her, frowns and blinks. "What?"

"Us," she says, making her voice balanced and straight. "We're not going to work out."

Toby stands, leaving the briefing notes on the coffee table. He is still and fixed as she watches the silent words forming in his face. He shifts, and puts his hands in his pockets. She wants to go to him, draw the right words from him - have him back. But the time has gone.

"Well," he says, "What a fantastic time to decide that, Andrea."

"_There's_ the answer I really wanted to hear."

"Andy," he says, his voice so soft that she has to clench her teeth against it, "I work for the President of the United States. And that's more important ... right now."

"Yeah. I wasn't actually under any illusions about that, Toby. But there's a point, and you've passed it. We've passed it."

His hands open into the air in front of her, waving emptily.

"You know?"

"I didn't say never, Andy."

"So, what would be a better time for you and the President, Toby? By the State of the Union? By the midterms? Or in the twenty minutes we have in the same apartment together three times a week?"

"I didn't decide all this by myself, Andy."

"All you needed to say was 'no', Toby."

"Which would have left you free to leave, what? Nine months, a year ago?"

"I don't know. I didn't know then."

"So you thought you'd wait and make really certain."

"I'm not sure you can do this, Toby. And I'm not sure I want you to."

"Thank you, for that ... candour, Andrea."

"So I'm asking you for a divorce."

He pauses a moment too long. "Okay," he says, staring at the floor of their apartment with his hands still in his pockets.

"Okay?"

"You seem to have made up your mind," he says, then looks up at her, "And I've got more speeches to write."

"Right."

"Send the paperwork to my office," he says, looking up at her. "I'll have it back to you within the week."

Andy doesn't regret her decision, even though she's sincere as she tells him it's a beautiful house, and truthful when she notices the shape he makes with Huck in his arms. Toby looks strangely natural; somehow out of place but just right: supporting the baby's head, rocking him just enough - and she's seen enough first-time fathers in the last day and a half to know that these things are not givens - but his eyes still haven't changed; he's still that man she finds she didn't know after all, only now it stings a little more because he has one of their kids happy in his arms. Nice timing, sweetheart, she thinks.

Andy looks out through the window, wishing she could get up without wrenching her uncomfortably intimate stitches. Molly gurgles a little and puffs her cheeks out, probably involuntarily, making her smile and want to poke Toby so he can see too. He's still locked to the news, with his back to her, so she turns back to the window. There's a blackbird on the sill, its beak a bright yellow against the fittingly grey sky. She can never tell whether birds are looking at her but this one seems as though it is, its eye a light point which lasts all of a second before it flies away. Andy follows its flight as far as she is able, letting her eye drift with the bird, right towards the distant sun.


End file.
